


a love song without a heart

by orphan_account



Series: this is the end [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M, POV Castiel, POV Second Person, Post Endverse, past major character death, story telling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not telling them a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a love song without a heart

You don’t want to tell the story that they want to hear.

You don’t want to tell the story of God and the Devil and free will and fallen angels. You don’t want to tell the story of the last stand of humanity at the end of the world. You don’t want to say anything about that and so you don’t.

The story you want to tell them is a love story without love, and they look at you like you’ve lost your mind or like you don’t know what you’re saying. So you say it again, slower now. A love story without love, a love story where it all went wrong and no one made the right choices and you were left out in the rain without a kiss, you were left at the crossroads alone, you were left out on a bridge, out in the cold, all alone. It’s a love story told by a broken and lonely heart.

You tell them about the Strong Man, the Ringleader, the Lion Tamer, and you tell them how they are all the same man. You tell them about the lover and the fighter and how that’s him, too. You tell them about the Tightrope Walker and the Acrobats who soar overhead and how that was you, but now you’re in the crowd watching but not clapping. Actually, you say, you’re not under the canvas tent, coloured with bright candy stripes. You’re out in the rain waiting for the ringleader to come out and give you a kiss like he promised but he never sees you. Or he never comes out; you’ve forgotten now.

“See!” they say, “It’s a love story. You love him.”

You want to smile but it doesn’t fit your face. “Love isn’t for the broken.”

So you tell them about the Devil like they wanted and how it took away his brother. You tell them about the fire and brimstone and the rage, you tell them about being called to battle against the demons to get a close shot.

“No,” they say, “we want to hear the love story.”

You knew that they would, ultimately. It’s not a good story but it’s one you know how to tell.

So you tell them about what happens when he doesn’t kiss you, how he looks at you like you’re a broken pot he bought thinking it was whole. You tell them about what happens when he _does_ kiss you, how he pushes close and takes all your breath, takes everything he can, and how you give him everything without him asking for it.

“See!” they say. “It’s a love story. He loves you.”

You wish it was that simple. “We weren’t built for love,” you say; it’s simple.

There was a time, you tell them, when it almost became a love story. When he kissed you and you kissed back and he told you what he wanted and you gave it to him because you wanted to. It lasted for the night and was gone by the morning but you’ll never forget it because to you it was a lifetime.

You tell them about how you fell from Heaven, from God’s Good Graces for him. For your ringleader, your fighter, the man who didn’t kiss you in the rain. You tell them about how he soothed your broken wings, at first. You tell them about how the night before he went to fight the Devil he asked to see the mangled mess of what was left.

So, maybe it’s a love story, you reason. But it’s one where the love went sour except when it didn’t. It’s a love story where there isn’t always love, not all the time. It’s a love story between a man who didn’t know how to love and an angel fallen from Grace. There are no kisses in the rain or chasing after your loved one when they storm out at two AM, there is no confessions that mean everything or sweet nothings whispered at dawn.

It’s a love story that forgot how to be a love story.


End file.
